


The Midnight Sun

by Noctem31



Series: Alone Together [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BAMF Molly Hooper, BAMF Mycroft Holmes, Brotherhood, Childhood Trauma, F/M, Family Feels, Flashbacks, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Hurt John Watson, M/M, Mycroft Being Mycroft, Mycroft Being a Good Brother, Mycroft Feels, Mycroft Holmes & Sherlock Holmes Feels, Pining Sherlock, Protective Mycroft, Romance, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes & Molly Hooper Friendship, Sherlock Is A Bit Not Good, The Holmes Parents are A Bit Not good, Vampire Mycroft, Vampire Turning, Vampires, Virgin Sherlock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-26
Updated: 2018-03-26
Packaged: 2019-03-08 21:25:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13466850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Noctem31/pseuds/Noctem31
Summary: More than one of Mycroft's secrets are about to be reveled, secrets which will destroy all Sherlock thought he knew about the world. After recently repairing their relationship as brothers, Sherlock doesn't know if he can handle Mycroft's betrayal. Mycroft is willing to do anything for his younger brother, but telling Sherlock the whole truth means putting him in harms way. Life as they knew it is about to end, and it is unknown how many will survive.READ ONE-SHOTS FIRST!! (End of an Era, and Lord of Ice)





	1. Do You Remember?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I highly highly reccomend reading the one-shots I posted before you read this! (End of an Era, and Lord of Ice). Everything will make more sense if you do!

_Previously: (From 'Lord of Ice')_

 

_“I am sorry, brother mine. I left you, and I have been trying to make up for that all these years. I was young and arrogant, and because it I made a mistake. I cannot change the past Sherlock, but I can promise you I will never abandon you again. I will always be here for you. You are my brother, and you are the only person alive today who I care for. I would give up my life if it meant you could be happy.”_

_Sherlock looked up into his brother’s eyes to see them shining with moisture. He could see the sincerity in his expression, and didn’t doubt his brother would take a bullet for him if necessary._

_He looked down at his hands and whispered, “I would like to get back to that, you know. The relationship we used to have. I miss that.”_

_“I miss it too, and if that is what you want, we'll make it work.”_

 

* * *

 

It had been several weeks since Mycroft last saw him.

Several weeks since he pulled the syringe from Sherlock’s hands, and took him home where he could keep a close eye on him.

After their heartfelt talk about their past, Mycroft had at least expected to hear from his younger brother, but there had been nothing.

Not even a dreadful text message.

“My Lord.”

Mycroft looked up from his desk to see Anthea had entered his office without his notice. He strengthened his masks to hide the disappointment he felt regarding Sherlock from his face.

“What is it?” Mycroft asked quietly, his voice lacking its normal sharpness.

She gave him a knowing look, and sat down in the empty chair in front of his desk. He raised an eyebrow questioningly, but his assistant just rolled her eyes. “Isn’t it obvious Sir?”

He narrowed his eyes. “Isn’t what obvious?”

“Sherlock is waiting for you to make the first move,” she said. “You told him you wanted to repair your relationship as brothers, and now he is waiting for you to prove that to him. He is waiting for you to prove you care.”

For the first time in a long time, Mycroft was confused.

“Why would it matter if I spoke to him first? We agreed to repair our relationship didn’t we? He has been avoiding me, so I can only assume he changed his mind.”

“My Lord, please trust me on this. Your skills are lacking when it comes to understanding emotions,” she said flatly. “Sherlock has abandonment issues. He is waiting for you to prove you aren’t going to do that to him again.”

Mycroft was silent for several minutes, running through this new information in his head. Could she be right? Was Sherlock waiting for him?

Anthea huffed and murmured, “It’s a miracle Molly puts up with you…”

“Careful Anthea,” he warned, without any real weight behind his words.

He considered her words for a few moments before nodding. “Very well. I will speak to him.”

“Thank god,” Anthea said with a grin. “Molly was worried you were going to wear a hole in the rug at home with all your nervous pacing.”

“I do not pace,” he insisted with a frown.

She stood from her chair, picking up a stack of files off of his desk as she did. “Whatever you say Sir, I was just repeating what I was told.”

Mycroft sighed deeply as Anthea left his office, wondering (not for the first time) if it had been a bad idea to introduce his assistant to his partner.

He drummed his pen against the desk for several seconds, thinking back to what she said. If she was right, his relationship with his brother would never be repaired unless he spoke first.

After debating a moment longer he picked up his cell phone and sent a text,

_Dinner this evening? I was thinking deductions. -Mycroft_

He waited anxiously for Sherlock to respond, tapping his foot on the ground quickly. He stopped after a moment and glared at his foot. Since when did he fidget? He shook his head and forced himself to turn back to his work while he waited.

Thankfully he didn’t have to wait long.

_Pick me up at 7. -SH_

 

* * *

 

As promised, Mycroft pulled up in front of Baker Street at exactly seven o’clock that night.

Sherlock looked down at the sleek black car from his window for a moment, before grabbing his coat and scarf.

He had been wondering how long it would take for Mycroft to get the hint. And Mycroft always claimed to be ‘the smart one’ he thought to himself.

The driver opened the door for him as he approached, and he silently sunk into the luxurious leather seats.

“Hello brother dear,” Mycroft said from beside him. “Glad you could join me.”

“Glad to be here,” Sherlock murmured, feeling nervous for reasons he couldn’t name. Years ago this had all been so easy. They used to spend every waking moment together, reading, studying, playing their violins… They told each other everything, and trusted each other unequivocally. Why was everything so much harder now?

He could feel his brother’s eyes on him, but avoided his intense stare, deciding to look out the window at the passing city instead. He was sure Mycroft was reading him like an open book, and he suddenly wished he had refused his brother’s offer. Anything would have been better than Mycroft seeing what an emotional wreck Sherlock was inside.

He hadn’t seen John or Mary since the wedding.

Everyone had tried to warn him this would happen. They tried to tell him things would change after John got married. He hadn’t believed them at first, but now he was painfully aware they were right. His relationship with John would never be the same again.

He felt a hand squeeze his shoulder, and he looked up to see Mycroft observing him. The older man cleared his throat and said, “Sherlock, do you remember that time mother and father forced us to attend Aunt Edith’s summer gala that one year when we were young?”

Sherlock scoffed as he thought back to that terrible day. “How could I ever forget?”

“She bullied you mercilessly,” he said. “I found you crying in the gardens after she called you the idiot of the family. Do you remember what happened next?”

“You assured me I wasn’t an idiot like everyone told me, then you told me we were going to get revenge,” Sherlock said with a slight smile.

“Yes,” said Mycroft. “Then what happened?”

“We altered the plumbing in the manor so that the sewage would back up the next time someone used a toilet.”

“Thankfully the poor unsuspecting soul happened to be Aunt Edith,” Mycroft murmured.

Sherlock chuckled then, unable to help himself. The look on their elderly Aunt’s face as she stepped outside covered in sewage was one he would never forget. Her manor ended up having to be completely restored after the incident, and the embarrassment their Aunt felt prevented her from hosting another gala ever again.  

“Do you think they ever suspected us?” Sherlock asked.

Mycroft laughed outright, something which surprised him greatly. “I doubt it,” he said. “We were rather cunning that day. Besides… I may have hinted to Aunt Edith that our cousin Ethan was the one responsible.”

Sherlock turned to look at Mycroft, whose eyes were filled with mirth. “You didn’t.”

“Oh, but I did my dear brother. It’s not like Ethan didn’t have it coming anyways. I believe he was forced to help fix the damages…”

Both brothers laughed then, imagining their brash cousin having to spend time with their dreadful aunt.  

“I wish I could have seen that,” Sherlock muttered.

“Me as well. But you know why I did it? Don’t you?”

Sherlock shrugged, not wanting to make any assumptions when it came to his brothers motivations.

Mycroft gave him a meaningful look and said firmly, “I did it because I hated the way they treated you. You are my family Sherlock, more so than our parents, or our aunts, or uncles, or cousins. You are the only one I care about.”

“What about our parents?” Sherlock asked incredulously. They had been horrible to him when he was young, but they treated Mycroft like the golden child.

“I stopped considering them family the first time our parents hurt you Sherlock. Since that day, there has only been you.”

Sherlock’s jaw dropped, Mycroft’s statement taking him completely by surprise. He searched his brother’s eyes looking for the truth, and what he found made his eyes burn just a little. _Sincerity._ That was what Sherlock saw in his eyes. Mycroft meant every word he said.

Sherlock gave him a sharp nod to prove he believed him. The unspoken message clear from his expression, _Thank you._

 _I will always protect you little brother,_ Mycroft’s eyes said in return.


	2. Don't Lie to Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Go back and read chapter one! I realized I accidentally posted the second chapter first, sorry! The chapters will be in order from here on out!
> 
>  
> 
> Keep in mind that John's family is dead at this point. I will get into explanations later, I promise!

 

 

_**Five Months Later...** _

 

Sherlock had expected to see many things when he entered Bart’s Lab this morning.

He had expected to see Molly and her assistant performing an autopsy on some man who had obviously suffered a heart attack, or perhaps Molly running some lab tests to determine a cause of death.

But the one thing he absolutely did not expect to see, was his brother pinning Molly Hooper against the table while he kissed her neck.

His jaw dropped, and it was a solid 20 seconds before he could speak,

“Mycroft?!”

Mycroft jumped back from Molly, and turned to look at him in surprise. “Sherlock,” he said breathlessly.

If it were possible, Sherlock’s jaw dropped even further when he saw his brother’s eyes. Red. Mycroft’s eyes were red. The unnatural color changed back to its normal blue within a few milliseconds, but Sherlock knew what he saw, there was no mistaking it. He was far too observant to have missed it.

Instead of running like most people, Sherlock stalked towards his brother, and took his face in his hands. He turned Mycroft’s head from side to side looking for any other abnormalities, but before he could, Mycroft pulled himself from the detectives grasp.

He put some distance between them and asked, “What are you doing?”

“What am I doing?! What are you doing with MY pathologist, and more importantly, why were your eyes red?!”

Mycroft looked visibly nervous then, which is not something Sherlock had seen often in his life. The older Holmes brother swallowed hard and gave him an apologetic look. “Molly and I have been seeing each other for a long while now.”

“How long,” he hissed.

“A year.”

Sherlock took a step back as if he had been slapped. The two brothers had sworn to repair their relationship after years of animosity, and after months of work, they had been successful. They met at least twice a week for dinner, where they revisited happier memories of their times together when they were young, and practised deductions on those sitting nearby. They spoke of ridiculous cases Sherlock worked on, and idiotic politicians Mycroft was forced to deal with. They were closer than they had been in a very long time, and this secret, this betrayal, was like a kick to the gut for Sherlock. His brother had been seeing someone for a year and had hidden it from him.

Mycroft took a step towards him and held out his hand, but Sherlock just took another step back. “You hid this from me all this time?”

“Sherlock,” he whispered. But before he could explain, Sherlock interrupted him,

“What about your eyes, government experiment brother?”

Mycroft shook his head with a sad glint in his eye, “I am sorry brother, I cannot tell you.”

With that Sherlock turned on his heel and left the lab, ignoring Mycroft’s protests as he went.

 

* * *

 

Mycroft watched Sherlock go, feeling as if his heart had been ripped from his chest. His brother would never forgive him for these secrets. Sherlock had only just begun to trust him, and now he had destroyed any possibility of them being brothers again.

He hung his head, but looked up when he felt a hand on his arm. Molly was there, looking at him with a sympathetic expression on her face.

“You should tell him,” she said.

“You know I cannot Molly, it will only put him in danger. The less he knows, the better.”

She wrapped her arms around his waist, and leaned her head against his chest. “Why did you keep our relationship a secret from him?”

“The less people who know about my attachment to you, the safer you are my dear,” he replied quietly. “There are many people who wish to hurt me. Losing you would cripple me, you know this already.”

She gave him a knowing look, “That’s not the only reason, is it?”

Mycroft stared into her hazel eyes, and stroked his thumb across her cheek. She always managed to see through him.

“No its not,” he admitted.

“What is the other reason?”

“I… I didn’t know how he would react to me seeing you. I know how much he longs for John. I didn’t want to upset him.”

She nodded in understanding, and reached up to cup his jaw. “Go to him, talk to him. I know how much he means to you. You have to tell him the truth if you don’t want to lose him.”

“He won’t believe me,” Mycroft said.

“Yes he will,” Molly insisted. “I believed you didn’t I? He will too, and if not, give him proof.”

He sighed deeply and closed his eyes. He spent several minutes sorting through his thoughts, organizing them in his mind palace to clear his head. Molly kept her hand on his jaw, and rubbed soothing circles on the stubble that was beginning to grow there.

Once he felt calm, he opened his eyes again, and placed a kiss on her forehead. “I will see you later tonight my dear,” he said. “Arthur will take you home after work since I am unsure as to when I will finish speaking to Sherlock.”

She took a step back from him with a smile, “Be patient with him. He is angry, so it is likely he will lash out against you. I love you.”

“And I love you my dear.”

 

* * *

 

 

Baker Street was empty. Mycroft searched all of Sherlock’s usual hideouts, but couldn’t find him. There was only one place he hadn’t yet checked, and he found himself rolling his eyes for not thinking of it sooner.

Whenever Sherlock was extremely upset, he returned to the roof of Bart’s hospital to hide from the world. It was a place of pain for Sherlock, and Mycroft couldn’t fathom why his brother would want to be there.

Night had fallen by the time Mycroft stepped onto the roof, and sure enough, Sherlock was there. His younger brother had taken off his belstaff, and laid down on his back to look at the stars. This was an activity that calmed the detective he knew, and it was something they had often done together to escape their parents when they were children.

Mycroft stepped closer to the younger man, but Sherlock didn’t look at him. He waited patiently for him to speak, and after minutes of silence, he did.

“Why are you here brother? Come to lie to me some more?”

Mycroft rolled his eyes, and slipped off his suit jacket. He folded it, and placed it beside his brother before sitting down. Sherlock looked at him out of the corner of his eye and sneered, “Careful Mycroft, the roof might collapse beneath you with all that excess weight you have put on.”

In reality it had been many years since Mycroft had put on weight, but the comment still stung.

“I have come to apologize,” he said.

“I don’t need or want your apologies Mycroft.”

“I would also like to explain, to tell you the truth if you would allow it.”

Sherlock didn’t say anything to that, so Mycroft raked his fingers through his hair and began to explain,

“There were two reasons I didn’t tell you about Molly. The first was to keep her safe. There are people out there who want me dead, and wouldn’t hesitate to use her against me if they were aware of our relationship. No one knows about us except for you Sherlock, we didn’t tell anyone.”

Sherlock’s jaw flexed, and he asked, “And the second reason?”

“You,” he said. “I am well aware of your feelings for John, and I know the fact that he blames you for Mary and Rosie’s deaths hurts you deeply, brother mine. I didn’t want to hurt you further by displaying my relationship in front of you. I’m sorry.”

Sherlock sat up suddenly and faced him. It was obvious the detective was searching his face for the truth, so Mycroft made sure to keep his expression open, allowing his brother to see everything.

He held his breath while he waited for Sherlock to react, and released it when Sherlock nodded. The unspoken message was clear, _I haven’t forgiven you, but I understand why you did it._

Sherlock shifted, and stretched his legs out in front of him. “Your eyes then? Why were they red? And don’t tell me another lie Mycroft. I am not a goldfish, I can see when you are telling the truth and when you are not.”

“I rather doubt you are going to believe what I have to tell you anyways little brother.”

“Try me,” he challenged.

Mycroft sighed, and shifted uncomfortably, “Several months ago you blamed me for leaving you with our parents when I went off to University. You told me I shouldn’t have left you behind with our parents who hurt you, you said I should have taken you with me. But in reality, I wasn't leaving for university. I left for an entirely different reason. I was in no state to take care of you little brother, no matter how much I wished I could have.”

Sherlock frowned deeply, “What do you mean? Speak clearly Mycroft.”

“Two weeks before I left home I was attacked, do you remember that?”

“You came home looking like you had been attacked by an animal,” Sherlock noted. “You were covered in bite marks, and told us a wild dog had attacked you on your way home from the store.”

“Yes I was attacked, but it wasn’t by a dog,” he said carefully. “I was attacked by another sort of beast.”

Sherlock waved his hands impatiently, gesturing for him to continue. Mycroft rolled his eyes and huffed out a breath.

“Be patient Sherlock, I’m getting there,” he said. He shifted again, trying to lessen his nervousness as he whispered, “I was attacked by vampires.”

Mycroft waited for his brother to laugh, to tell him he was losing his mind, but that never happened. Sherlock blinked quickly, seemingly trying to process this information.

“Sooo…” he began. “Vampires?”

“Yes vampires.”

Sherlock was silent for a long while, just staring intensely. Eventually he came back to his senses and asked, “And you left because?”

“Because I was turned into one,” Mycroft replied slowly. “The vampires who attacked me were young, and immature. They turned me on a dare, and left me to fend for myself. I didn’t understand what was happening to me, so I left for London. I was extremely confused, and I didn’t know if I would accidentally hurt you, so I left you with our parents. I know they treated you terribly, but it was better than me accidentally killing you. I didn’t know what I was capable of at the time.”

“What happened after you left?”

“I got lucky,” he said with a shrug. “The Vampire Lord of London found me by accident. He seemed to realize what had happened, so he took me in and helped me understand what I had become.”

“Who is he? And what does that mean? I’m assuming it’s not all like the movies then?”

Mycroft chuckled and shook his head, “No it’s not. I can go out in sunlight, I am much stronger and faster than a human, I can still breathe normally, and blood still pumps through my veins. I do not age, and I can only be killed by being burned to death.”

Mycroft watched as an excited glint entered his brother’s eyes, the glint of his inner scientist. “You drink blood?”

“Yes, but we tend to only drink donated blood.”

“Your eyes turned red before, why?”

Mycroft blushed a little then, “I was about to feed. It tends to happen when we feed.”

“You just said you only drink donated blood,” Sherlock noted. “So why were you about to feed from Molly?”

“Because,” he began.

He cleared his throat delicately, and looked away from Sherlock’s piercing stare. “Molly is my chosen mate. We only feed directly from the source if it is our mate.”

Sherlock’s eyes narrowed, “Why?”

“It is considered to be… intimate.”

“Oh,” he said eloquently. “Sooo… you cannot feed directly from a human if it is not your mate? Or you just choose not to?”

“We cannot feed from any human if it is not our mate.” Mycroft said. “We can collect blood without biting however, if we must, by making a small cut on a human artery. It is the biting, _and_ drinking of the blood simultaneously that is considered intimate.”

Sherlock closed his eyes for a minute, obviously filing this information away in his mind palace, and creating a longer list of questions to ask. When he opened his eyes again, that curious glint was a little brighter, “You were bitten, but the people who turned you were not your mates?”

“No, they were not. You can turn another person without feeding. Activating the venom which causes the change is voluntary, which is why I can feed on Molly without changing her,” Mycroft explained.

Sherlock nodded in understanding. "You said you never age, but if you were turned in your late teens, why do you look like you are in your fourties?"

Mycroft smirked, and allowed his glamour to drop. A slight tingling sensation danced across his body as his fake apperance was stripped away. Sherlock's jaw dropped a little as a 30 year old Mycroft in his prime was revealed to him. 

"I suppose I lied. We do age, but only to an extent. When you are turned, you are automatically transported to your prime. So, when I was changed in my teens, I was aged until my body reached 30 because that is when my body reached its peak. If you are old when you are changed, your body goes back in time."

"You, you... how did you do that?" 

"It is called a glamour," Mycroft said. "It allows us to change our appearance. However, it only works on humans. Not other vampires. I have been using it to hide my condition from everyone."

Sherlock nodded, and they both sat in a comfortable silence for a long while. Mycroft wanted to know what his brother was thinking, but Sherlock kept himself closed off, not giving anything away. 

“You never answered my other question," Sherlock said quietly. "Who was the man who saved you?”

“This… this is where things get complicated,” Mycroft said cautiously. “Promise me you will listen to the whole story before you interrupt?”

The detective narrowed his eyes again, but seemed to decide the information was worth knowing, because he nodded. “Fine.”

Mycroft closed his eyes, knowing Sherlock was likely to become very angry. He didn't want to see the look of betrayal on his brother's face again. “The Vampire Lord who saved me was Maxwell James Moriarty, Jim Moriarty’s father.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Respectful feedback is always appreciated! Thank you for reading!


	3. Fire

_Previously:_

 

_Sherlock nodded in understanding. “You never answered my other question. Who was the man who saved you?”_

_“This… this is where things get complicated,” Mycroft said cautiously. “Promise me you will listen to the whole story before you interrupt?”_

_The detective narrowed his eyes again, but seemed to decide the information was worth knowing, because he nodded. “Fine.”_

_“The Vampire Lord who saved me was Maxwell James Moriarty, Jim Moriarty’s father.”_

 

* * *

 

Surprise. Fear. Hurt.

All emotions which passed through Sherlock’s eyes immediately after Mycroft revealed the name of his mentor.

Eventually Sherlock’s expression settled on anger. “Explain,” he said with narrowed eyes.

Mycroft shifted nervously. “He took me in and taught me everything he knew. He molded me into his successor, and when he died, I became Lord of London.”  

The detective peered at him suspiciously, “And how did he die Mycroft?”

“I killed him,” he admitted, his voice shaking ever slightly. “He was over a thousand years old, and he wished to die. It’s why he trained me. In order for a new lord to take over, they must challenge the current lord, and win. He asked me to challenge him, so I did, and I won.”

“I’m assuming Jim Moriarty wasn’t too happy about this then?”

“No, he wasn’t. He wanted to rule, but Maxwell saw the insanity in his son, and disowned him,” Mycroft explained. “Since then, Moriarty and I have been enemies.”

Sherlock froze for a moment, before standing up and glaring down at Mycroft.

“Everything Moriarty ever did, every threat, every puzzle, every death, it was all your fault? He attacked me to get revenge against you?”

He swallowed hard, knowing this could very well be the last conversation he ever had with his brother. Sherlock’s eyes were filled with fire, and Mycroft knew he was walking a very fine line.

“Yes, he did.”

Sherlock turned and walked in the direction of the stairs, anger radiating from every pore. He stopped just as he reached for the door handle, and Mycroft knew what was coming.

Sherlock turned slowly, and looked him directly in the eye as he said, “You told me vampires can only be killed using fire. Moriarty shot himself in the head, so he's not dead, is he?”

“No,” Mycroft said nervously. “We are unsure of his location. I have my people looking for him, but there is no sign.”

Sherlock opened and closed his fists, and clenched his jaw. “Moriarty wants me dead. He wants the people I love killed, and you hid this from me?”

“I’m sorry,” Mycroft whispered weakly. “I needed to keep the existence of vampires a secret, and I was only trying to keep you safe...”

“Safe?! How am I supposed to protect myself if I am unaware of the threat Mycroft?”

Mycroft wanted to tell him that Sherlock would be unable to protect himself from Moriarty on his own. Moriarty could rip Sherlock to shreds with almost no effort, but he knew that wasn’t the best thing to say at the moment.

Instead he explained, “I have my people following you and those close to you at all times Sherlock. Vampires who are capable of standing up to Moriarty.”

“I can’t believe you,” Sherlock murmured as he shook his head. “Don’t try to speak to me again.”

With that, Sherlock left the rooftop, leaving Mycroft sitting there, guilt overwhelming him.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered into the night.

 

* * *

 

Later that evening Mycroft stepped into his home, feeling exhausted and defeated.

Molly was there waiting for him, looking beautiful as always.

The sight of her rejuvenated him in a way he never thought possible. Seeing her in that moment was like finding water in a desert.

Mycroft fell to his knees in front of her, and wrapped his arms around her waist. He buried his face in her blouse, and breathed in her delicious scent while she ran her fingers through his hair.

“He is never going to forgive me for this,” he murmured after a long while.

“Yes he will,” she said. “You just need to give him time to come to terms with everything love.”

He shook his head and kept his face hidden. “You don’t understand Molly,” he insisted. “I lied to him for _years._ That’s not something one can easily forgive.”

“Eventually he will realize you were only trying to protect him, and protect your species. All you have ever done is protect him. Eventually he will understand, and when he does he will find you.”

Mycroft tilted his head back to look up at Molly. She gave him a small smile, and moved her hand to cup his cheek. He couldn’t help but lean into her soft touch just a little. He loved this woman with all that he was. She was comforting in all the right ways, and no one else knew him the way she did. Someday he was going to bond with her, he vowed. She was perfect, his other half, and there was no one else he would rather spend his life with.

He wouldn’t turn her unless she wanted him to, but either way, he wanted her to be _his._ At least for as long as she lived.

He reached up to cup her face in his hand, and pulled her down to kiss him. “I love you,” he murmured against her lips.

“I love you,” she said. “Everything will work out, I know it will.”

 

* * *

 

Sherlock walked for hours around London, running through all the information Mycroft had given him, over and over again in his head.

It was too much. The betrayal was overwhelming.

Moriarty was Mycroft’s fault.

At first Sherlock had enjoyed the little game they played. It occupied his mind longer than most cases he investigated, and he admired Moriarty’s cleverness. At least he _did,_ right up until the deranged man strapped a bomb to John.

After that moment, Sherlock stopped seeing Moriarty as an interesting puzzle, and starting seeing him for what he really was. A bored psychopath willing to destroy everything he cared about.

The realization that his greatest enemy was still alive had been a punch in the gut. How long before Moriarty struck again? How long before he killed Mrs. Hudson? Greg? _John_?

John.

Sherlock’s greatest strength, and greatest weakness.

It had been three months since he last saw his beloved blogger. Not since the day Mary and Rosie were murdered.

It was _his_ fault. If Sherlock had just kept his mouth shut , if he had just listened to Mary when she told him to stop speaking, none of this would have happened.

Unshed tears burned in his eyes as he thought back to that disastrous day. He goaded the rat, pointing out her jealousy towards her coworkers, and her loneliness. He allowed his ego to get in the way, to blind him from the rage radiating off of the elderly woman standing there in front of him.

Then she succeeded in surprising him. She pointed the gun in his direction, and pulled the trigger. He could still hear the sound of the gunshot ringing in his ears, just like he could hear Mary’s whimpering as she bleed out on the aquarium floor in John’s arms.

Sherlock promised he would protect her. _He promised._ And he failed. She jumped in front of him, and the bullet struck her heart.

The sound of John crying when he realized his pregnant wife was dead still haunted Sherlock’s dreams. He wanted nothing more than to go back to that day and take Mary’s place. He deserved to be dead, not Mary, and not Rosie.

Sherlock continued to wander, drowning in dark thoughts, and wondering if now would be an acceptable time to turn back to drugs to ease the pain.

Not long after, he realized he was in John’s neighborhood.

Why did he come here? He asked himself. He wasn’t welcome, John had made that perfectly clear three months ago. _So why was he here?_

He knew he should turn around and go back to Baker Street. It would be the wisest course of action to do so, but his legs kept moving against his will.

He found himself standing on his best friend’s doorstep, nearly trembling with anxiety. He was so close to the man he loved more than life itself. So close to everything he could ever want.

He found himself knocking.

He held his breath as he heard footsteps inside, and froze as John opened the door.

John’s jaw clenched the second he realized who it was. “What do you want? Why are you here?” He hissed.

Sherlock let out a broken sob, and tears began to fall. “I… I wanted to see you. John, I’m so sorry. It was all my fault, I’m so sorry.”

John shook his head, his eyes cold, “No, no no! Get away Sherlock. I don’t want to see you ever again.”

“John please,” he begged. But before he could even finish his sentence, John swung his fist.

Sherlock’s legs gave out, and he fell on the railing for support. Before he could even get his bearings, John’s fists were raining down on him, hitting him again, and again.

Sherlock nearly blacked out, and he could vaguely tell he had a concussion. He collapsed on the ground completely, and John bent over him.

“Leave Sherlock,” he growled. “Leave and don’t ever come back.”

With that, John slammed the door in his face, and left him on the cold ground.

It took nearly all of his strength to pull himself into a standing position again, fighting through the physical and emotional pain of John’s assault.

He began stumbling in the direction he came, completely oblivious to his surroundings.

He didn’t even notice when a van pulled up beside him.

Suddenly he was grabbed, a bag was thrown over his head, and he was thrown into the van. He tried to fight against his attackers, but he didn’t have any strength left.

Sherlock distantly heard shouting, and knew the shouts were most likely coming from the protective detail Mycroft assigned to him. Why hadn’t they noticed the van following him? It was their job to do so, and didn’t they have super strength or something? Something wasn’t right about this whole situation, besides the fact that he was now tied up in a van.

Sherlock tried his best to keep track of the turns they made, using the map of London in his head to guess their location, but it was useless. He was going in and out of consciousness, unable to keep himself awake. He was fighting a losing battle, and after a long while, he drifted off entirely.

It was an indeterminable amount of time later, when he was shocked awake by cold water being poured over him. He gasped, and quickly realized he was now tied to a chair. The bag was no longer on his head, so he was able to see the shadow of the figure standing in front of him.

“Who, who are you?” He asked between pants.

A grinning Moriarty stepped out of the shadows, and Sherlock’s blood ran cold. The man... wait, no, the _vampire,_ began to circle him, like a predator stalking its prey. Moriarty ran his hand along Sherlock’s shoulders, and he shivered in disgust.

“Daddy has missed you Sherl. It has been too long since we last played our little games…”

Sherlock clenched his teeth. “Why am I here?”

“Oh come on, isn’t it obvious? I want to give your brother a little gift. He has caused so much trouble for me over the years.”

Moriarty moved to stand in front of him again, and Sherlock had to crane his neck to see him. The vampire’s eyes were black, dead. There was nothing there, no life, no emotion. Sherlock used to refer to himself as a sociopath. But after meeting Moriarty, he realized he was nothing like the monster in front of him. If lacking emotions turned him into _that,_ then he wanted no part of it.

“What gift did you have in mind then Jim?”

Moriarty’s grin was positively feral, and Sherlock watched in terror as sharp fangs revealed themselves. Before he could protest, before he could even beg for his life, the vampire latched himself onto his neck.

Sherlock  _burned._


	4. Please Mycroft

Mycroft woke to the irritating sound of his phone ringing. He unwrapped his arms from Molly, and groaned as he rolled over and picked it up.

“Holmes,” he said sharply.

“My Lord we have a situation,” Anthea blurted out. “Your brother went to see Dr. Watson. Dr. Watson physically fought Sherlock, and as your brother was leaving, he was kidnapped. A van pulled up beside him and pulled him inside.”

Mycroft practically jumped out of bed, and began pulling on a black suit as he hissed, “Where is he now? And what of his security detail? Why didn’t they intervene?”

Molly had woken up by this point, and was watching him nervously from the bed. It was obvious she knew something was terribly wrong, but kept silent so he could concentrate on the task at hand.

“We don’t know My Lord, we have been using the CCTV system to try and track the vehicle’s movements, but the people who took him seem to know how to avoid our eyes. As for his security detail, both agents James and Harper said they were unable to reach the van in time.”

Mycroft noted the doubt in Anthea’s tone. “You sound as if you don’t believe that story?”

“I don’t sir.”

“Throw them both in interrogation rooms. I will be there shortly. Activate code black.”

With that he hung up the phone, and buttoned up his suit jacket. Molly climbed out of bed and approached him.

“What happened?”

Mycroft huffed out an anxious breath. “Sherlock has been kidnapped. We don’t know who took him, or where he is.” He leaned over to place a kiss on her forehead, and slipped his phone into his pocket. “I have to go darling. Please stay here, for your safety.”

“I will. Be safe,” she replied with a nervous smile.

He kissed her more firmly to ease her fears. “I always am. I am not sure when I will be back. John will most likely be arriving here soon for his own protection.”

She nodded, and he turned to leave.

A few minutes later, he was sitting in the back of his car dialing a number. The phone rang twice before a groggy voice answered,

“Hello?”

“Dr. Watson this is Mycroft Holmes. I need to know what you spoke about this evening with my brother.”

There was a long pause on the other end of the line, and Mycroft heard John’s breathing rate increase.

“I told him to leave and never come back, and now I am going to tell you the same. I don’t want to hear from either of you ever again. Goodbye.”

“Sherlock has been kidnapped John,” Mycroft said urgently. “He was taken just outside of your flat.”

The next time John spoke, Mycroft could hear the worry in his voice. “What? Wait, who took him?”

“We are unsure at the moment, but I have my assumptions.”

“And what are your assumptions?”

“Moriarty.”

There was a very long pause before John laughed. “Don’t be ridiculous, Moriarty is dead. He shot himself in the head.”

“I can assure you John, he is not dead,” Mycroft said impatiently. “Now, I have sent a car to your flat. The car will bring you to my home where security is tight. Molly Hooper is already there, and she will explain the situation to you. You are in danger, so please do not argue.”

“Alright, alright I won’t,” John assured him. “And Mycroft?”

“Yes John?”

“Find him, please?”

John sounded timid, and Mycroft found himself rolling his eyes.

“I intend to. Now perhaps you will remember how much that man cares for you next time you see him. Oh… and Dr. Watson?”

“Yes?”

Mycroft lowered his voice and spoke in a dangerous tone. “The next time you lay a hand on my brother, I will make sure you never again see the light of day.”

“U-understood,” John replied.

With that, Mycroft hung up, silently fuming, and itching to get his hands on the people who took his brother.

A short while later he was entering his headquarters, his Iceman persona radiating fury, causing anyone near him to give him a wide berth.

Anthea was there waiting for him of interrogation room one. She visibly winced when she saw the rage in his eyes, and immediately began debriefing him. “My Lord, neither James or Harper are speaking.”

“I will take care of it,” he replied. He turned, and stepped into James’ interrogation room, knowing the young vampire was the weaker of the two agents. James spotted him immediately, and froze. Mycroft could smell the terror rolling off the youngling, and gave him a glare that would stop most people dead in their tracks.

The Vampire Lord sat down slowly, gracefully, and waited. He sat as still as a marble statue, simply staring at the man, watching as he visibly began to panic.

Mycroft continued this for about 20 minutes, and when he finally did speak, James flinched pitifully.

“I am only going to ask you once, before I begin to slowly rip you to pieces. If you tell me what I want to know, I will ensure you a quick death. If not, I will spend the next century having you tortured. Every. Day.” Mycroft stood, placed his hands flat on the table in front of him, and leaned forward. “Were you involved with my brother’s kidnapping?”

James nodded, trembling horribly at this point. “Y-yes My Lord.”

“How?”

“We were paid to stay out of the way. To allow t-them to take him.”

Mycroft sat back down in his chair. “Who is ‘they’?”

“I don’t know.”

The Vampire Lord slammed his fist on the metal table, putting a large dent in it. James looked utterly terrified and shook his head, “I swear we don’t know! No one gave us a name! They only gave us the money and told us to stay out of their way.”

He could see the youngling was telling the truth. “Where did they take him?”

“I don’t know My Lord. They didn’t tell us anything, I swear!”

The Vampire Lord knew he wasn't going to get any more information out of James, so he stood and moved to stand behind his agent. As much as he hated killing, he couldn’t allow his people to believe betrayal was acceptable.

He took a deep breath and murmured, “Goodbye James.”

 

* * *

 

“Molly?”

She looked up to see John standing in the threshold of the library. She gave him a slight smile, “Hello John.”

He walked towards her, and sat next to her in the other wingback chair in front of the fire. He looked around the grand space for a moment, rubbing his hand over the back of his neck.

“What are you doing here? I mean, Mycroft said you would be here, but...”

“Well… actually Mycroft and I are in a relationship,” she said hesitantly. When he gave her an incredulous look, she bit her lip, hoping he didn’t say anything too harsh about the man she loved. She was well aware of John’s feelings towards Mycroft, and she didn’t want to listen to the doctor debase him.

Thankfully John seemed to realize this, and kept his thoughts to himself. Instead, he asked, “How long?”

“Over a year now.”

“That long? Really?”

She smiled, “Yes. I love him so much John, he is so good to me. I couldn’t ask for a better partner.”

John returned her smile with one of his own, “Good, I’m happy for you Molly.”

After a few seconds his smile disappeared, replaced by a look of sadness.

“Any news on Sherlock?”

“No,” she said. “Nothing yet. I haven’t heard from Mycroft since he left earlier.”

“Is there anything we can do?”

Molly shook her head, feeling terrified for her missing friend. “No, not this time John. It’s up to Mycroft…”

John leaned forward with a sigh, placing his elbows on his knees. He gave her a regretful look and asked, “How… how has Sherlock been since… you know..”

Molly sighed deeply, and decided to tell John the whole truth. As angry as John was after the incident, none of it was Sherlock’s fault, and the way John had been treating Sherlock was unacceptable.

“John, you destroyed him. He was miserable, and honestly if it weren’t for Mycroft… I don’t think Sherlock would still be here.”

Molly watched as John covered his face with his hands and groaned painfully. She reached over to put her hand on his shoulder, “It’s not Sherlock’s fault you know, he didn’t kill them John. He would have taken that bullet himself if he could have. He loves you so much, he needs you, and I think you need him too. So if he comes back… no, _when_ he comes back, please don’t abandon him.”

“I just wanted someone to blame,” he said, as he let out a broken sob, and hunched over himself even further. “You’re right, it wasn’t his fault. And then earlier I hit him. I hit him so hard Molly, and I didn’t even know why I was doing it. I’m so sorry..”

Molly moved to kneel in front of him, and wrapped her arms around his shoulders.

“Shhh, it's okay. We are going to find him, and when we do, you can make things better with him.”

They both sat there holding one another while John cried quietly. Molly closed her eyes tightly, praying Mycroft found Sherlock unharmed. Sherlock and John deserved to heal, and in order to do that they needed each other. They had been through so much together, and they both deserved a little peace.

Molly pulled away from John when she thought she heard a faint knocking on the door in the distance. “Do you hear that?”

“Yes,” said John as he wiped his tears away.

They both stood and walked cautiously to the front door. The knocking was slow, and quiet, and Molly frowned deeply wondering what it could be. She tapped several numbers into the security system next to the door, to pull up the cameras aiming at the front doorstep.

A second later, the cameras showed a thin figure laying in the fetal position on the stone.

Sherlock.

Molly and John ripped the front door open, and crouched down by the whimpering figure. They picked him up using their combined strength, and carefully and carried him into the living room, locking the front door behind them.

Only once Sherlock had been positioned comfortably on the sofa did they look him over.

Sherlock was pale, and his face gaunt. He curled himself into the fetal position with his eyes wrenched tightly shut, trembling violently as he did.

John covered the man with a blanket, and ran his fingers through his curls, “Oh my god, what happened to him?”

“I don’t know,” she said truthfully. “Sherlock, Sherlock what happened?”

Sherlock spoke so quietly they almost missed what he said. “N-Need… Myc.. Mycroft,”

Molly quickly pulled out her phone and dialed Mycroft’s number, hoping he answered. As the phone rang, Sherlock became more delirious, murmuring Mycroft’s name over and over.

“Mycroft.. Please Mycroft. Mycroft. I n-need Myc.. please… Mycroft….”

Thankfully after the third ring, The Vampire Lord answered,

“Molly, now isn’t a good ti...”

“Sherlock is here,” she interrupted urgently. “We found him on the doorstep. He is pale, and shaking violently. He looks terrible Mycroft, and he keeps repeating your name.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line, before Mycroft spoke very carefully, “Molly, I need you to look at his eyes. Check and see what color they are, and make sure John does not see you do it.”

Molly knew instantly where Mycroft was going with this, so she moved to stand in front of John, blocking his view, and opened one of Sherlock’s eyes.

Red.

Red eyes, just like Mycroft’s before he fed.

“Yes, they are,” she said simply into the phone, knowing Mycroft would understand.

“I will be there shortly,” he said briskly before hanging up.

Molly hung up the phone, and John asked, “Well what did he say?”

“He will be here soon.”

They both looked down at their friend whose trembling was getting worse by the second.

“Mycroft,” he whispered again. “Mycroft, I need h-him.”

“He is coming Sherlock, he will be here soon, I promise. He’s coming.”

The two of them continued to whisper reassuring phrases to the whimpering man, trying to ease his pain while they waited.

Sure enough, Mycroft burst through the doors about 10 minutes later. The Vampire Lord looked even more foreboding than usual in his black suit, and he completely ignored Molly and John as he rushed to his brother’s side.

The second Mycroft was near, Sherlock shot up from the sofa and jumped into his protectors arms. “Mycroft…” he whispered, as if convincing himself his brother was really there.

The Vampire Lord swept an arms under Sherlock’s legs, and lifted him into his arms as if he weighed nothing at all, “I’m here Sherlock, I’m here now. Shhh… you’re okay.”

Mycroft hasilty carried Sherlock from the room, and up the stairs to the second floor. John stood up in protest, and was about to follow when Molly stopped him,

“John only Mycroft can help him right now. We have to stay here.”

The army doctor spun around and yelled, “What do you mean?! I’m the bloody doctor here!”

“John, we _must_ stay here. Please trust me, Mycroft will help him. Trust me.”

He stood there fidgeting for a moment, fighting an internal battle. After a long while he sighed deeply and nodded.

“Alright.”

 

* * *

 

Mycroft gently placed his brother down on his own bed. He pried Sherlock’s arms off of his neck, his heart pulling as Sherlock began to beg,

“Please, no, Mycroft please come back. Don’t leave me _please._ Not again please…”

“I’m right here Sherlock,” he promised as he moved to the other side of the room. “I’m just grabbing something that will help you. I’m right here.”

He was back by his brother’s side within seconds, holding a bag of donated blood. It seemed as if someone turned Sherlock, but didn’t feed him immediately after. A youngling vampire would die within 24 hours after being turned if they didn’t feed.

Mycroft pulled the cap off of the bag, and put the tube near his brother’s mouth.

“Drink this Sherlock, it will help you.”

Sherlock, too weak to lift his arms simply opened his mouth to accept whatever Mycroft was about to give him. He placed the tube in his brother’s mouth, and watched anxiously as his brother began to suck.

Sherlock’s eyes opened wide the second the blood touched his tongue, and he greedily pulled the bag from Mycroft’s hands.

“Slowly Sherlock,” he warned. “Slowly, or else you will be sick.”

Sherlock looked like he wanted to protest, but in the end he listened to his older brother.

When the bag was finally gone, Mycroft took it and tossed it in the bin on the other side of the room.

“Want… more…” Sherlock moaned.

“No,” replied Mycroft. “No. You have to wait.”

Mycroft learned that lesson the hard way himself after being turned. They people who turned him were ‘nice’ enough to have left several bags of blood after turning him, and he had gotten sick after drinking the first bag too quickly.

He began running his fingers slowly through Sherlock’s hair, chuckling a little when his brother closed his eyes, and made a sound that sounded suspiciously like a purr. He waited until his brother drifted off to sleep before slowly removing his hand, and pulling away.

He was about to exit the room to retrieve more blood from the kitchen when he heard Sherlock whimper, “Please stay Mycroft.”

Mycroft turned back to the bed, to see his little brother staring at him with tear filled, fearful eyes. The sight of him like this reminded him of all the times Sherlock had come to him as a child, small and vulnerable, looking for comfort.

Without hesitation he walked back over to the bed and sat on its edge. Sherlock wrapped himself around his waist, and held him tightly, so Mycroft maneuvered to lean against the headboard behind him. He began running his fingers through Sherlock’s hair again, knowing it calmed his little brother when he did so.

Exhaustion hit him like a train hitting a brick wall as he stared down at his brother. Guilt ate away at him, as the gravity of the situation sunk in.

Sherlock was a vampire now.  

Mycroft wouldn’t have minded if Sherlock had asked to become a vampire, but he hated the fact that his brother’s choice had been taken away from him. Becoming immortal wasn’t an easy choice to make, and that choice was no longer Sherlock’s.

He would have to train him, he realized, just like how Maxwell trained him as a youngling. He would have to teach his brother how to fight, how to feed. He would have to teach him his strengths and weaknesses, and teach him about his world.

A wave of protectiveness towards Sherlock nearly overwhelmed him as he thought about the future. He would make sure his brother was prepared to handle any situation, he vowed. He would never again fail him, or allow him to get hurt. This was his fault, and he could only hope that when Sherlock woke, he didn’t despise him.

“Everything will be alright Sherlock,” he whispered to his sleeping brother. “I will make sure of it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is greatly appreciated!


	5. Calm, Sherlock

Sherlock woke just as sunlight was beginning to shine through the window. He opened his eyes, and watched the dust particles glint as they floated gently through the rays. He was mesmerized by the incredible detail of the scene before him. Never before had his vision been as perfect as it was in that moment.

He watched for a moment longer, before looking around the spare room he normally used when staying with his brother. It was mostly empty, except for Mycroft sitting beside the bed on a carved wooden chair.

His brother was watching him silently, seemingly waiting for something to happen.

That was when the events of the previous night returned to him.

 

_John beating him._

_Moriarty biting him, turning him._

_Drinking blood for the first time._

_Clinging to Mycroft like his life depended on it._

 

As the memories returned, so did a tidal wave of emotions. He felt overwhelmed as the fear, sadness, and pain struck him.

Mycroft immediately noticed the younger man’s distress, and reached out, using one hand to run his fingers through Sherlock’s hair, while using the other to squeeze his shoulder tightly.

The touch grounded Sherlock, and helped slow his increasingly rapid breath.

“ _Calm_ Sherlock,” his brother whispered. “Just keep breathing and relax. I’ve got you. I promise.”

It took several minutes, but eventually the heavy weight lifted off of his chest, and he was able to breathe normally. However, the anxiety was soon replaced by another feeling. An emptiness, a desire that he couldn’t quite understand. He _needed_ something. Desperately.

“You’re hungry,” Mycroft stated, and Sherlock decided it was true.

He nodded, and watched as Mycroft picked up a bag of blood from the table beside him. He pulled off the cap, and handed it over with a warning,

“Drink slowly remember, or else you will be sick.”

Sherlock heeded his brother’s warning and paced himself. He almost groaned as the liquid hit his tongue. It was exquisite, like nothing he had ever tasted before. He didn’t have the words to describe it, but he instinctively knew he would never again consume anything else.

He drank until the bag was empty, then handed it back to his brother who tossed it in the waste bin.

Sherlock pulled himself up so he was leaning against the headboard, feeling slightly sore. His muscles ached as if he just ran several miles without prior training. It was uncomfortable, but manageable.

“How are you feeling,” Mycroft asked as he sat down again.

“Sore,” Sherlock replied, “but not terrible.”

The Vampire Lord nodded once, a relieved expression on his face. “Good. That is normal after turning. I am assuming Moriarty was the one to turn you?”

“Yes. He said it was a gift for you, whatever that means,” Sherlock said with a shudder.

“I am not sure,” Mycroft replied with a shake of his head. “I believe he is planning something, but I don’t know what. Either way, you will be staying with me for awhile. It is important I train you and prepare you for life as one of our kind.”

Sherlock winced hearing that. It wasn’t that he minded staying with his brother. It was that he wasn’t comfortable with the idea of no longer being human. His entire future had been decided for him, and he wasn’t the type to give up his independence easily. His choice had been taken away, and he detested that fact.

“Are you alright?” Mycroft asked.

“No,” he replied, “but I will be eventually.”

“I will be there with you every step of the way little brother.”

“I know you will,” Sherlock said truthfully. He didn’t doubt his brother would take care of him and guide him through this new life. If there was anyone he trusted to do so, it was Mycroft, even if he had kept secrets from him.

Mycroft gave him a small smile and nodded, knowing Sherlock meant what he said.

“John has been asking to see you,” he added a moment later, his smile transforming into a frown.

Sherlock tipped his head and took in his brother’s expression. “You don’t want me to see him?”

“No,” Mycroft replied, his voice cold. “No, I don’t. Not after the way he treated you last night. As much as you may like to disagree with me, you are not at fault for Mary and Rosie’s deaths Sherlock, and the way John treated you was unacceptable. Your relationship is unhealthy. He never should have harmed you in any way. He is violent, and abusive at times. You don’t deserve that.”

Sherlock took a moment to absorb his brother’s speech, realizing he was probably right. He could still feel the punches raining down on him as he fell to the ground, and it made him wince. As much as he wanted to disagree, he knew a small part of him feared John. Feared what the man was capable of if pushed too far.

“He is my only friend My,” Sherlock murmured after a moment, looking away to avoid his brother’s eyes.

Mycroft looked momentarily surprised by the use of his childhood nickname, “No he isn’t Lock. I am your friend, so is Molly, and Gregory, and Anthea. You are not alone.”

Sherlock was silent for a long while, sorting through all of his options.

Eventually, after sorting through all of his memories of John and their time together, he decided he wasn’t ready to give it up.

John had _saved_ him.

Without John, Sherlock probably would have died from an overdose long ago. The shorter man was his bedrock, almost as much as Mycroft was. But at the same time, he knew he wasn’t ready to see his friend. Sherlock knew he would forgive him in time, but he had more important matters to deal with before he could begin down that road.

“I want him in my life Mycroft,” he said with a steady voice, “but not now. Not so soon after… everything.” _After turning, after being beaten._ “I need to settle into this life before I invite him in.”

“Of course,” his brother agreed with a nod. “I do not like your decision to continue your friendship, but I will respect it. I will have him moved to a different safe house with a solid security team. It will make your transition easier without a him near, and besides, you look like you are in your early thirties now. I haven’t yet taught you how to create a glamour, so it would be difficult to explain why you look young without telling him everything.”

“Do you have a mirror?” Sherlock asked.

Mycroft walked across the room, and opened one of the drawers of a mahogany dresser. He pulled out a small hand-held mirror, and offered it to Sherlock a moment later.

Sherlock held up the mirror, and took in his new appearance. He did look younger, he noticed, but not much younger than before. He was already fairly young when he was turned, so he only looked to be about four years younger. His hair was still wavy and dark, his skin was smooth and pale, and his eyes still an intense blue.

He glanced over at Mycroft, deciding it was still slightly weird to see him looking the same age as Sherlock now did. He was used to seeing a stern middle-aged-man, with thinning hair, and lined skin. The man in front him had thick auburn hair, smooth skin, and piercing dark blue eyes. It was odd, but Sherlock assumed he would get used to it in the coming days.

Mycroft regarded him curiously for a moment, then asked, “Will you be alright if I leave you alone for a little while? I need to speak to John, and probably Gregory and Anthea as well. It will give you time to shower and sleep if you would like. You need to rest so your body can heal properly. Normally our bodies heal quickly, but since you only turned last night you will heal quite slowly.”

“I will be fine,” Sherlock assured him. “Just… come back later maybe? We could play chess?”

Mycroft instantly noticed his little brother’s insecurity, and smiled, “Of course Sherlock. I promise I will return in a couple hours.”

With that he turned and left the room, leaving Sherlock to rest.

 

* * *

 

Mycroft found John sitting in the library with his soon-to-be bonded mate. He tried and failed to suppress his protective primal urges seeing the doctor near her, and found himself moving to sit beside her. She looked at him with a raised eyebrow, which he responded to by planting a gentle kiss on her lips. It took everything he had not to nuzzle her neck and mark her with his scent.

He was _the_ alpha vampire. The Lord of all vampires, and he did not like other men being near _his_ mate.

This primal urge was sadly something all vampires experienced with their mates. Human Mycroft would have understood John wasn’t a threat, but Vampire Mycroft wanted to make a visual claim to prove to the other man Molly was taken.

He pushed down that urge and asked Molly, “Would you mind giving John and I a moment? I need to speak with him.”

“Not at all,” she replied with a smile. “Come find me when you are finished.”

She kissed his cheek before she left, and Mycroft felt his inner primal instincts purr. He reveled in any affection from his mate, especially when in the presence of another male. After being alone for so long, he couldn’t help the way he craved her.

Once she was gone he turned to John who said, “Wow, I never thought I would see the day you entered a relationship.”

“Yes, well, times change,” Mycroft replied coldly. “Now, onto business. My brother is currently healing, and I know you expressed an interest in seeing him, but he has refused. He isn’t ready to see you after you injured him so severely. So, until he is ready, I have decided to move you to another safe house.”

“Wha-what do you mean?” John sputtered. “You can’t keep me away from him!”

“I can, and I will,” Mycroft replied confidently with a wave of his hand. “He has assured me he has no wish to end your friendship, but he needs time John. Surely you of all people can understand that.”

John’s jaw clenched and he looked like he wanted to argue further, but he kept his mouth shut. The man sat there breathing heavily for several minutes before eventually nodding.

Mycroft returned his nod and said, “Good. We will be moving you to the safe house within an hour, so make sure to grab any of your belongings. I will inform you when Sherlock is ready to see you again.”

With that, Mycroft stood and left the room to go find his mate and call his PA, leaving a despondent John behind.


End file.
